


Desires and Demons of Hearts

by GrimLegate



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst at end, Heavy Petting, M/M, Manhandling, Multi, Oral Fixation, Other, Persona 5 Spoilers, Personas, Possessive Behavior, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimLegate/pseuds/GrimLegate
Summary: Hands on his chest, and a tongue down his throat. A voice far-off, and eyes watching the dance of the three individuals before him...A dance he's taking part in.





	Desires and Demons of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for after Nijima's Palace/Shido's Palace.

               The best way he can describe the feeling is odd; not foreign, nor unwelcome, plainly and simply odd.

               Akira’s come to know the presence in the moments when Arsene slips through the fill the gaps where Joker cannot. It’s the heavy weight of the arcing crown of keratin above his brow, and in the wings he wears like a fallen angel’s shroud. It has the same intangibility to it, where his fingers splay and brush over incorporeal creatures born out of the desires and demons of their hearts.

               Of course, all of those are simply extensions of himself, someone _else’s_ extension is a slightly different story.

               He’s nearly choking on the appendage that has made it its goal to bury itself as deep in his throat as possible. His own tongue is pinned neatly behind his teeth as he can feel the Persona trying to coax him to play, to move against the grinding hips that are kissing the curve of his derriere, _the hands gripping tightly at his hips, moving him for its own pleasure—_

The only thing keeping him from being rutted face-first into the ground is the solid mass in front of him. He can only just catch the glimpse of white and gold regalia out of the corner of his eye, but the tepid fingers curling up under his shirt is more than enough of a reminder that the other was not to be left out.

               The temperaments of the two remind him very much of the analogy ‘two sides of the same coin.’

               _Possessive_ , only _begins_ to describe the tug of war that is currently going on between the two Persona. Loki, tugging mercilessly at his hips, and threatening to leave monstrous bruises in their wake. Robinhood, who’s fingers will tease at his skin, brushing the hair out of his face, when even the thought of forgetting about him crosses his mind. The strangled, whorish moan that manages to escape past the tongue buried past his own only serves to spur Loki even more, the tips of its claws beginning to needle their way through the leather fabric. He has no idea where his mask has landed, the gentle hands of the gentile pillager treating him with care when the other saw fit to begin _ravishing_ him.

               His moans leak out with every rut forward, his body pitching into the robust chest of the other, sawed back and forth with little care for what was happening to him. A strangled groan off to the side has Loki’s tongue stilling in his mouth, before the agile appendage retracts itself, popping off of kiss-swollen lips with an obscene noise to match the stimulated gasps that Akira lets loose.

               It’s all he can do to pick his head up off of the other Persona’s chest, to look at the third and final partner in this tryst. Akechi, those mousy-brown locks tousled with strands sticking to his forehead. He’s fisting the pants of his outfit, the dark patterns that they had yet to be privy to in person. He can hear the leather of his gloves creaking, and Loki’s claws dig more sharply into the abused skin of his hips.

               The detective is breathing hard as well, as though he were the one that had been consuming Akira, tempted to swallow him whole. The swell of his arousal through those pants isn’t hard to see, and from Akira’s position, forced forward and on his knees, his own erection strains at the thick fabric. He sees the monochrome pattern of horns tipping forward into his line of sight, before he feels the graze of its jaw laying on his shoulder.

               Loki’s mouth twists in a feral grin, sharp teeth glinting while its tongue seeks to savor every perverse drop of fluid that it coaxed from the boy. Playfully nipping at Akira’s jaw, tempting to leave rosy spots against the attractive bend, trailing down to mouth painful bites over the surface of his neck. Loki pauses for a moment, harsh breathing that mimics Akechi’s and purrs, pulling Akira’s hips back sharply in a move that sends the other Thief tipping his head back and gasping at the phantom feeling of Akira’s pert ass grinding against his sensitive flesh.

               _“_ _Pretttyy…”_ The hissing tremble reminds Akira of the settling of the attic on unruly, windy nights. An unsettling creaking that he can feel in his bones, especially as Loki continues to bend Akira’s body into more uncomfortable heights with its oppressive weight threatening his back. Loki’s head turns back to its owner, and Akira’s grey eyes follow, glad to see that he’s not the only one that flustered by the events unfolding. Akechi’s chin is tucked against his chest, the feeling becoming overwhelming quickly for such a new experience.

               “Y- _es_ … h-he is…”

               It’s a miracle he hasn’t ruined those pants already.

               Sweat is beading on his face, and Akira wants so desperately to just _touch_ him. It’s all he’s ever wanted, to be able to take the other into his arms and teach him what it’s like to be loved. His arms stretch out, but it’s Robinhood that catches them. Its face is sweeter than the spiteful Loki, and for a moment, Akira feels as though it understands him. Robinhood hauls him up, sending the other Persona hissing spitefully as it tries to keep its hold on its part of the prize. He’s still on his knees, but being upright is easier on his back, relaxing into the hold before those clawed hands move.

               They scrape upwards, taking pleasure in dragging red lines of nonsensical calligraphy into the surface of the boy’s pale skin. It’s a frigid burn that tears whimpers and gasps from his mouth, his body twisting this way and that in an attempt to free himself from the pain and hypersensitive pleasure that wracks his body. He wonders if the other entity will take it upon himself to help him, but the insistent fingers that are parting his lips say otherwise.

               He’s left to his own devices, feeling the two digits tickling the surface of his tongue, the Persona waiting to see what the other would do. It’s embarrassing, but Loki’s touch sends him pitching forward, greedily sucking down on the fingers. One of Robinhood’s fingers slips under his tongue, pinching the muscle between the two, before exchanging the pair for a thumb.

               Akira’s tongue rocks against the metallic surface, gasping around it while Loki sees fit to tear its nails across his chest. Any thoughts are rendered moot, a choked off wail issuing from his throat as the other Persona becomes sick of its own complacency. The feeling of digits playing in his mouth is a foreign one, and between the two Persona’s actions, Akechi looks as though he’s swiftly losing his cool.

               He certainly _feels_ as though he will.

               The dual sensations are driving him wild. He feels as though he is trailing his fingers up Akira’s chest, cruelly leaving marks upon the skin and none-too gently tweaking those pert nipples that his shirt can no longer hide. The feeling of Akira sucking on his fingers is an interesting one, but it serves to only exacerbate the problem growing below, thinking of threading his fingers through the other’s dark locks, feeling him work his mouth around his cock _just_ like he is sucking on his Persona’s fingers.

               But it doesn’t end there.

               Akira’s fingers lingering on Robinhood’s chest are paralleled onto his sensitive flesh, feeling the ghost of a touch gracing over his skin, while Akira holds on for dear life. He can’t stop the twitch in his thigh, when he rolls his hips in time with Loki’s twisted sense of humor, and feels Akira move in turn to fuck himself onto the promise of fulfillment.

               He’s astonished at how little it took to break the other’s composure, the long tongue of his companion proving a compelling argument. Of course, that was _if_ there was an argument to be had in the first place. Once the two had been set about to roam this little dimension, somewhere between the Velvet Room and their own dreams, there had been little to do other than sit back.

               The sudden tickle against his lips drew his attention back to the three in front of him, Akira’s revealed chest barred to the paler Persona, Loki’s arms hooked around Akira’s, holding him in place. The slick feeling of Joker’s tongue against his fingers was still there, testing and teasing the oral fixation that Akechi was _very_ well aware that the other had. The harsh sound of a zipper being undone drew his currant eyes lower, Robinhood’s unoccupied hand working the other’s outfit until it was to the other’s liking.

               Loki’s lengthy tongue teased the still clothed erection, stretching farther than even Akechi thought was possible, gulping harshly at the strained moans that Akira let out. The winding, slick muscle was plenty agile to worm its way into the tight leather pants that _he_ had imagined himself stealing into. The detective couldn’t help the harsh twitch that stole through his abs, trying to hold onto some restraint, despite the sexual fantasy that he had a front-row seat to.

               The restraint that was slowly slipping through his fingers, like grasping at fine grains of sand.

               His hand moved to rest over his arousal, palming it through the fabric of his Phantom outfit. The heat and pressure drew a grunt from his lips, along with the feeling of Akira’s heat dancing atop him. _God_ , how he wanted to grind the boy into the wall, his face pressed up against the surface, twisted in pleasure that _he_ was responsible for…

               “N-Ngh, w-ait – _ah!_ ” Akira’s doubled over on himself, his defined chest struggling to catch his breath while he pressed his face into the cool surface of Robinhood’s body. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, eyes glazed over as his hips desperately tried to find more leverage to rock back against the Persona, and to rock into the substantial chill that left his skin burning with _its_ tongue wrapped around his cock. Robinhood moved to try and steady the boy, his arms still unpleasantly restrained up by his head.

               His quivering chest trying to pull in air between the feelings assaulting his brain, head turning to catch the sight of Akechi’s head tipped back, refusing to indulge himself in anything more than roughly stroking through the fabric of his pants.

               “A-A _h!_ Ak… Akechi… _Goro._ ” He _begs_ , and the last thread that was keeping his demeanor from devolving snapped under the pressure, and he nearly tips the chair over with the force he stands with. Robinhood seems to take the hint easily, shuffling away from the body, but Loki isn’t so keen on giving over the prize that he’s worked so hard to ravish.

               “ _Enough_.” Akechi sneers, his fingers trailing to grip Akira’s arms, staring at the space where the absence of eyes is readily apparent.

               “ _Miiiiine.”_ It hisses, claws wrapping around Joker’s midriff in a possessive display, one that Akechi won’t tolerate – not from his own Persona, not from _anyone_.

               The gaze he levels on Loki is _icy_ , the almost-snarl that twists his features, and Akira would be a liar if he said that the slightly wild look that tints the edges of Akechi’s normally placid and calm outward demeanor _wasn’t_ so incredibly _hot_. It’s a intense stare-down, one that the boy is uncomfortably caught in the middle of, the still warmth on his arousal beginning to crank his sensitivity far higher than his body could handle.

               Eventually, Loki grows disinterested, especially when it realizes that Akechi is not in the mood to share, _nor_ to play games, and the sudden pressure that had surrounded him is gone, and he falls in a heap into Akechi’s waiting arms. He wonders if he’ll get a break from the assault of feelings that had been wrenching his body all over for the indiscriminate amount of time that the two had spent there, but the sudden fingers tilting his chin up says otherwise.

               The lips on his are insistent, and the tongue that entwines with his is even more so. He’s glad however, for the ability to respond to the attention, moving his arms to hook behind the other’s neck. Akechi’s hands have settled on the other’s hips, holding him there with a far gentler touch than either of his Persona might have mustered. He can see the bruises that will linger there, can see them on the bare skin of his chest where his thumb strokes against the sensitive skin.

               The kisses are wet, sloppy, nothing like the quick pecks and lingering lip-locks that they had ever pulled off before. There’s desperation in each movement, each a drowning man, each the other’s breath of life. Akechi is the one who pulls away first, feeling Akira’s teeth catch and drag over the sensitive skin, trying to keep him as close as he desperately can. His lips are at least three shades darker, and his entire face is almost unhealthily flushed, burying his face into the brunet’s shoulder. The sudden attention lathed on the skin there sends another flush through his body, making the fabric of his outfit unbearably hot.

               It’s certainly not helped by the mantra of ‘ _please’_ that is whispered against his skin, a desperate plea of a sinner to their higher power.

               It takes barely any effort to coax Joker onto his back, laying on the ground with barely a complaint, the pale skin of his chest fully on display for the other. His derriere is still connected with Akechi’s hips, those long thighs he’s fantasized about being sandwiched between doing just that. When he leans forward, Akira’s hips move with him, and Akechi remembers all the time’s that the other’s shown off just how _bendy_ he can be.

               The angry red lines that were wrought against the skin by his other half he soothes with the heat of his tongue, hands splaying against the skin he isn’t worshiping, leaving some of his own scratches in the wake. Akira’s body jerks against him at the harsh treatment of nails against his abused skin, arching his chest into the other, desperate for the touch that sent liquid heat spreading through his body. Joker grips at his shoulders, wanting desperately to tear up Akechi’s back, wanting the other to shed the dark outfit in favor of the pristine skin he had tried to show so much love.

               When Akechi tries to retract himself, Akira follows, only stilled by the hand that strays ever close to his heart, the bare whisper of a threat against the skin, especially with the clawed tips that rest poised at the tender skin.

               “I wish you could see yourself – who would have ever thought that the illustrious leader of the Phantom Thieves would be devolved to nothing more than a needy _whore_.” The words bite, but it’s nothing that he hasn’t heard before, and they certainly don’t have the sting he would expect from such a sentiment. Of course, the comment leaves him keening for Akechi’s touch, trying to pull the other down for another lip-lock. Akira’s body rolls in a shudder, his brain processing the sound and feeling before he can let out a gasp at the sharp slap that was laid upon his ass.

               “Naughty, _naughty…_ I thought that the interrogation room would have taught you some _manners_.” It’s time for Akira’s retaliation, the smirk that graces his lips just as infuriating as always.

               “You wouldn’t like me if I was _well-mannered_ – you like a challenge.” He purrs, managing to arch his body to press his bare chest against the detective’s, half-lidded eyes hiding those scrupulous eyes behind thick lashes. Akechi’s eye twitches, grinding his teeth at how easily the other knew how to wind him up.

               “You certainly qualify as one of those.” The breathy growl that leaves Akechi’s lips travels straight to Akira’s dick, and he takes his moment, grinding sharply down onto the other’s erection.

               Which gets him the exact reaction that he’s been waiting for this entire time.

               Those clawed fingers all but rip through the fabric of his outfit, freeing the flushed skin and instantly making Akira’s mouth water. The thought of preparation is scrapped, taking too long, as Akechi’s rough fingers grapple Akira’s hips and drag him up onto his lap, his cock trapped deliciously between the roughed-up skin of Akira's ass. The brush of pressure up against him is enough to send electricity up the base of his spine, and Akechi grunts into his shoulder at the feeling of the skin dragging against the neglected arousal he’s been nursing.

               That same clawed gauntlet stretches around his rival’s cock, giving rough strokes to the skin and watching as Akira twitches and his body jerks at the feeling, desperately chasing more of the friction. Akira is shameless, not something that Akechi didn’t know already, but he was especially bad when there was something that he wanted _desperately_. He grinds up into his hand, and downward into the curve of his cock. The brunet can’t help but watch as the always collected leader’s face twists and contorts, all while painted an unhealthy shade of red.

               Akechi gives a sharp squeeze, making Akira’s hips buck as the other tries to wrest control from the teen straddling his hips. It works, for all but a moment, Akira’s wriggling and incessant twitching driving Goro up the wall, each one sending a jolt through his arousal. He gives another harsh touch, leaning in close to Joker’s face with a predatory smirk.

               “If you want my dick so bad, you’re gonna have to prep yourself.” He purrs, staring Akira down as the other seems to finally get the gears in his head to turn to think about more than dick for a few seconds…

               And then Akechi’s view of the world spins, and he’s the one on his back.

               Akira’s clambering over him, one of the legs of his pants slid all the way down (when did that happen?) He presses their cocks together, grinding them against one another in an attempt to satisfy the sudden loss of contact. It’s all for show though, Akira soon abandoning that and moving to lean across Goro, propping himself up on one elbow, leaning heavily next to Akechi’s head.

               Akira’s own nimble fingers find their way into his mouth, teasing the digits as he had done with Robinhood, coating them thickly with saliva. It’s not the first time, by any means, that he’s ridden Akechi until the other could hardly feel his legs. He often preferred it, relishing in how the other seemed to have this blissful look on his face, and the supreme confidence of knowing that _he_ was the one that was in control.

               The first digit is always the trickiest, his back arching down towards the brunet, who is still trying to recover from the whiplash enough to do more than stare, open-mouthed like a strung-up trout. Akira’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as he works his finger deeper inside of himself, making way for the second that joins a moment later.

               When he moans, he’s not sure whether it’s the finger probing up to the third knuckle, or the sudden grounding presence of the hands that settle on his hips. Akechi’s bravado is all but gone, disappeared as he watches Akira’s face contort above him, and while he can think of a thousand demeaning things that he could spit at the other…

               He wonders if he’d ruin the moment, the illusion of the tenderness.

               When a third finger enters the equation, Akira’s head hands, and hooded eyes meet Goro’s just as the boy finds what he was looking for. He collapses, ass still propped up, but the elbow holding him aloft of the other fails him, and his gasping face is pressed into Akechi’s chest.

               He can smell the sweat on his skin, and the vaguely expensive smelling soap that he’s come to grow fond of and remembers when he had used it for the first time; and how Akechi missed the other’s soap smell.

               Stretching and curling, coaxing and jabbing, it’s a miracle that Akira hasn’t creamed himself by this point. It’s all helping to break the coil that has been steadily building in his gut since the beginning of this venture, but when he feels as though he might be close to the edge, something snatches him back. When he leans up to face Goro, he feels as though his body will break under the strain.

               Akechi can only blink, when the other raises himself up off of him, the far-off light source serving to back-light him, and the messy tangle of his curls frames that flustered face perfectly. He’s so busy staring, that he only barely registers when the other takes hold of him, and begins to slide home to the prize he could finally claim after having waited for so long.

               To him, it’s nearly blistering.

               He watches as Akira freezes, the tip of the cock just barely inside of him, before a tense shudder rips through his body. He waits for the orgasm to rip through the other’s body, only hoping that he doesn’t strangle the tip of his cock in the process.

               It never comes – neither does Akira; but the sudden drop that engulfs the rest of his length almost makes him.

               His fingers shake at the sudden riptide of pleasure that threatens to drag him under, and suddenly the patience that he’s been trying to exercise with the other has worn too thin. Akira doesn’t seem to mind when Akechi rises up, hands digging into the other’s hips, and takes control of the pair. The raven’s tip bounces between the two of their stomachs, while _Akira’s_ bouncing makes an obscene sound in the unscrupulous space they inhabit.

               Akira’s arms around his neck threaten to choke him, but the harsh hold serves to do nothing but to spur him on further. He can’t say that they were ever like this before, due to Akira’s insistence on going slow, to show Akechi a gentleness that he had never had the luxury to experience, whether he was the one taking it or not.

               Now, there’s a rush, an impatience that strikes both of them, and when Akechi’s knees shift underneath him, Akira allows him to move him into whatever position he finds the most egregious. Balanced on his lap once more, knees squeezing into the other’s sides, he whines at the lack of leverage he has, barely able to do more than grind against the other.

               Though, Akechi doesn’t keep him waiting for long.

               The strangled wail that rips from Akira’s throat when Goro begins his assault from the new angle is nearly enough to make him come on the spot. Whatever restraint he went into this with has swiftly vanished under the pretense of such long-awaited pleasure, and the moans and tightness of the other surrounding him in more ways than one.

               His thrusts echo out into the space around the pair, panting hotly into the crook of the other’s shoulder. Akira’s neck is taut, his head thrown back with the barely contained moans that are coming from him.

               Which, of course, Akechi cannot keep himself from biting down on, eager to leave his mark.

               Akira feels as though he’s suffocating, his hand moving to bury itself in the soft mousy-brown locks. He tries to buck up against the other, trying to help one another to the finish line that is so close in their sights. He is _bouncing_ in his lap, and the teeth and tongue and _lips_ that he can feel from the other is sending his blood rushing through his body, and finally, _finally,_ he feels the final string snap. His entire body goes taut, only a few spasms in his legs a telling sign, before his head flies forward, and he clings to Goro as though he’s the last lifeline he has.

               “A-ke… G-Goro, _Goro!_ I… _nnggh!”_ He smothers himself into the other’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly, as he tries to hold on past the over-sensitivity, still feeling each and every thrust inside of him, the other trying desperately to throw himself over the same edge. With the pulsing around him, and the arousing sound of Akira’s voice calling _his_ name, it doesn’t take long.

               He knows he must coat the other’s insides, feeling all of the backed-up arousal that had been roiling around inside of him, and the orgasm is nearly as painful as it is pleasurable. The white-hot sting washing over him works a few grunts from his throat, barely having released the other’s sensitive skin in favor of savoring the taste of the skin and the mark he knows is only worsening by the second.

               The clutching and clinging to becomes a loose embrace, as each of them catch their breath. Akira’s eyes are so unsteady, it’s a miracle he can focus on anything in the moment, especially when he pulls away and gives him a smile, so soft and tender, and Akechi’s heart _shatters_.

               And the weight of his actions settles on him, oppressive and _awful_.

               The blood, the gun, the acrid smell of smoke within the room, and that wide-eyed stare that he has seen a thousand times. He knows this is a dream, and yet he’s yanked from the calm experience into a waking nightmare.

               Akira seems none the wiser, still smiling, even as Goro leans into him and cries, gripping at his skewed jacket, burying his face into the boy’s neck and sobbing.

               “I’m sorry, I-I’m _sorry…_ Oh, _God_ , Akira… _I’m so sorry.”_

 

* * *

 

 

               Waking to tears painting pathways down his face is certainly nothing new. His body is shaky, unsure of itself after the blissful high and the subsequent drop. His body feels sticky from the sweat, and he imagines that a shower would do good to cleanse himself, physically and spiritually. His pajama bottoms cling uncomfortably to the front of his body, and he can already feel the sticky mess that he had made of himself.

               How embarrassing, all over a dream…

               Except, something catches his attention in the mirror.

               His lips are a darker shade than normal, and when he grazes a hand against them, he can feel how tender they’ve become. His neck is mottled in different shades of red, and if he looks close enough, he can just barely pick out the imprint left by wandering _teeth_. Finally, when he sheds the t-shirt he had worn to bed in a panic, he can see the harsh lines left by grasping hands, and the colors drains from his face.

               He looks as though he’s seen a ghost; _fucked_ one, if he’s going to be honest.

               His head spins, and he wonders if he truly was still out there… He had smelled the cloying scent of iron hanging in the air, the blood pooling out onto the table, _those horrible, terrible lifeless eyes…_ He looks at his phone, fingers shaking, fighting down the urge to text him. He tries to breathe, turning away to the shower, and hoping that the scalding heat will help his head, after all, maybe he was just seeing things?

               Despite how real the claw marks stung under the heat and pounding stream, and the contented purr of Loki in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a pic by Marudyne over on Tumblr! Please, if you like this story, take a peak at some of the others!


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